Understanding silence
by FammeFatale
Summary: Draco always knew how to use words to his advantage. So why was it that every time it was important, every time it was needed, it was really worth something, he couldn't manage to speak them out, feeling them being stuck in his throat? Warnings for slash, lemon and bottom!Draco


Understanding silence

**Warnings: this is a slash story (yaoi/boy x boy) containing lemon scenes and angsty moments **

**Pairing: Harry x Draco (bottom!Draco)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its characters (sadly) a make no profit from this story (that´s even sadder) **

Draco always knew how to use words to his advantage.

He knew how to make his sentences sound especially cute with speaking in this high pitched tone that sounded as if a guinea pig spoke and using many words sounding too old for his age – everything just to get more sweets from those women with too much make up and too tight clothes his mother called "friends".

When talking to his father he always had the perfect mix of submissiveness, adoration and fear in his voice. It took him many hits till he managed it but he would never forget it in his life.

While talking to his minions he used that hard, serious voice he copied from his father, using words they would probably not even find in the dictionary, making people belief him even though he didn´t know any better.

Seducing girls was kind of a balance act – using a soft and velvet tone while still sounding masculine and words from Shakespeare, Goethe, Schiller and the likes without making it too complicated or outdated. Sadly it was never worth the effort.

But the most fun was to use them as weapons. A harsh, unpleasant voice ringing in the ears of his opponents, every jab and joke perfectly aimed at their weaknesses and insecurities making them stumble and fall to their knees before him without the need to even touch them. It were those moments he felt truly alive.

So why was it that every time it was important, every time it was needed, it was _really worth something_, he couldn't manage to speak them out, feeling them being stuck in his throat?

Why was it that the first time his father told him of his future in the dark lord´s army he couldn't say no - form a lie that he would become a political to help from within the enemy lines, in hope that this horror was over till then? The only thing he did was nod.

Why couldn´t he use his silver tongue whenever the cruciatus was used on him, beg for forgiveness, tell them he would be better next time, do it right? He could only cry and scream on the floor.

Why was the only things he could do when Snape healed his wounds was stare at the floor and try to hold back the tears, not able to mutter that two little words – _thank you_? Now it was too late for that.

Where were his witty words and cutting remarks when the boy who he had admired for ages had turned him down, instead befriending _Weasley_? He had only stormed out and later thrown a tantrum about it like a 5 years old who hadn't gotten his ice cream.

And what had possessed him to just sit there and stare in those beautiful green eyes like a little love struck girl the warmth of the flames from the chamber of secrets still warming his back? He could have done anything really – say thank you, apologize, say he didn´t need his help or just try to make them _understand_. But he had only watched Potter´s retreating form.

How could he just keep quiet and count the seconds of their rare meeting when Potter returned his wand? It took him over 30 seconds till he nodded his head in agreement when the saviour asked him out on a coffee.

And even now with them being in their bed, Harry´s form covering Draco's the only thing escaping his parted lips were pants and little moans while his boyfriend of seven years pressed the third finger in him.

At this times it was always Harry who was talkative – muttering in his ear how _good_ and _tight_ Draco was and how he was just made for this.

Pressing into his hole the raven haired man always talked with this deep, hoarse voice that made him just mad with desire, using words like beautiful and perfect that he felt unworthy of but still enjoyed.

Pounding into him the voice was primal, growling in his ear that he was his bitch, his whore or just _his_. It were these words that triggered his orgasm.

The only time he was louder than Harry was when he screamed out his pleasure - arching his back and covering his own stomach in come – so that the whole house could hear him in his attempt to show them who he belonged to.

His last sounds of the night were the same everytime – his moan when he felt his insides being filled with Harry´s semen and a whine when that wonderful cock slipped out of him.

Cleaning both of them the saviour leaned closer and kissed Draco one last time whispering "I love you". Followed by an "I know" when seeing Draco´s desperate face.

Sometimes he really wished he could say those three little words too. But Draco supposed it was better to have his silence understood.

**This fic was written around 2 o´clock in the morning after I was tired of hearing my best friend snore next to me. So forgive me if it´s not that good.**

**And as always – comment!**


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